Fairest

[4] Skeletal Queen

Taking one last, long gaze into the Mirror's glass, Queen Avalon licks her lips and sighs. "I must go," she tells it, and its face—her reflection—falls with disappointment. "A little prince is coming to the castle, and I must be there to welcome him."

The Mirror nods. "Go," it whispers gently, yet its eyes plead for her to stay.

Before she can give herself the time to change her mind, Queen Avalon turns and paces briskly through the thick, viscous darkness. Her heart cries out softly, begging for her to go back. Drawing in a sharp breath, Avalon ignores the yearning that squirms in her chest, that makes her fingers twitch and her heels itch to whirl around and march right back to the Mirror's untouchable embrace.

The farther away she gets, the louder her heart becomes. It starts off as a quiet whimper, like a wounded animal; then, it cries out, as if struck by a blade; then, it wails, beseeching her, collapsing to its knees and falling to the ground, screaming, pulling at every fibre of her being back to that wondrous, intimate glass.

It would be an understatement to say that Avalon's heart grieved each time she left the Mirror. The absence of its presence was Death itself, and the twisting, suffocating sensation renewed itself every encounter, stronger than the time before.

It seems that the Mirror cannot take her absence, either, and it howls her name, despairing. "Avalon! Avalon, Avalon!"

Queen Avalon grits her teeth and screws her eyes shut as she forces her way through the darkness, which seems to be working against her as well. What once drew her inside hastily, excitedly, what once made her heart pound with anticipation, what once made her feel liberated now wraps its fingers around her wrists and tries to guide her backwards, beckoning her to reunite with the Mirror once again.

Her heart continues to weep its epitaph, blubbering and shaking on the ground, convulsing at the absence of the Mirror. Here lies Avalon! it shrieks, floundering for air, clawing at the floor and against her chest, raking its fingers down her ribs. Aye, here lies Avalon, the Suicidal Queen, who killed herself with no poison, no blade, nor a noose! Aye, here lies Avalon—

"Fie! Quiet, you wretch!" she screeches, scraping her nails against her heart. Suddenly, she feels short of air, and gasps desperately for it, gulping down only shallow breaths. The shadows are a great pressure on her lungs, and force themselves against her as she fights her way out, one hand still grasping roughly atop her heart.

The baying of the Mirror only ceases slightly, but its cries still rasp down Avalon's spine. "Avalon, Avalon!"

Avalon searches frantically for every bit of her might in every single bone of her body to resist the mournful shrieks of the Mirror, and barely manages to stand firm.

When she finally bursts out, she shields her eyes from the sheer brightness of the hallway, which is only decorated with a few candles. She staggers a little bit, attempting to keep her balance, but fails—and crumples to the floor. Her black dress fans out around her; its folds twist like tendrils that seep through the fine rug, rooting her to the ground.

In her mind's eye the Mirror hangs on the wall, gazing forlornly at her, as if it, too, can feel the spears of grief piercing though her. "Sweet Avalon," it coos softly, "Sweet, sweet Avalon..."

"Mirror, Mirror," Avalon whimpers, repeating its name—for it brings her solace. "Mirror, Mirror..."

"Avalon, Avalon..." it sighs back, and wraps its arms around its body, cradling itself gently. "Avalon, Avalon..."

Streams of tears stripe down Avalon's face as she curls into fetal position. The world is far too bright. It flashes. Lightning is being hurled from the sky. The world shakes and thunder roars through her veins. There is a gag shoved down her throat. A sob roughly wraps its hands around her esophagus and wrings it, strangles it, twists it until she chokes.